The cracked tiles of perfection
by waiting for my shooting star
Summary: "Perfection has its price." drabblish,


The c _**r**_ a c _**k **_e d tiles of _**perfection.**_

_[__**:::**__]_

Perfection is something everyone aims for;

Girls crave those flawless looks; the ones that would turn the head of every guy within a mile radius, they want their perfect fantasy guy; the one who brings them flowers everyday and would drop anything just for them, they need perfect grades; otherwise they can kiss those fantasises of Yale and Harvard goodbye- basically every aspect must be perfect. They need something, for which everyone else can envy them for. Boys want the exact same thing, in different variations, but still freaking perfection nonetheless.

It's in our subconscious to strive for perfection. We may not know or even realise it, however it's an inevitable fact.

We all want things in our life to run smoothly -we want them to go our way.

We want to get into the collage of our choice, we want the job of our choice, we want the person of our choosing. When things don't go the way we desire; we panic, we break down, and we rid ourselves of all the essence of failure, wanting to forget it ever happened.

Life isn't fair. And perfection, it's impossible.

There's no way of changing it. It's simply the way things work.

_[__**j.h**__]_

Claire tired her best to fix me.

My loving, supportive girlfriend of six l o n g years.

Our relationship was inevitable; we grew up together, we were best friends, our mothers pushed and pushed. We were like the Blair and Nate's –pre Chuck- of the world. Everybody just expected us to be together. Disregarding the facts of whether or not we had any feelings for one another.

Which was a not, well... on my part anyway.

We were engaged; to be married in the spring. An enormous celebration, costing an enormous amount that would save a third world country. Claire didn't mind though, she actually was quite proud, because she got to marry me.

I was broken though, ill to the fact I needed pills three times a day. I kept it secret. Secrets were my specialty.

_[__**;**__]_

After our marriage, the pain got worse; I got sick, really sick. Nobody knew what was wrong.

I was sent away to a facility for the mentally ill, up near the north – the more secluded and private area of the state-

I protested and protested; I _was_ fine in my own _twisted_ way.

The tears; they are what made me go. She only wanted me to get better; it was the best for our growing family.

But you can't get better, for if in the first place you never knew what had gone wrong.

Claire was the kind of girl who strived for perfection, and if it didn't turn out the way she planed, she sent it away.

_[__**;**__]_

After two years of no progress, divorce papers were mailed.

Claire wanted nothing to do with me.

She wanted to keep me away from the daughter I had no say about. The daughter she preceded in putting up for private adoption. Pretending she never happened, along with me.

Perfection has its price.

_[__**;**__]_

Another three years went by; I was twenty six and growing weaker and weaker by the moment.

I received another letter; a thinly wrapped golden embossed invitation.

**You are cordially invited to the wedding of Derrick James Harrington and Claire Stacy Lyons.**

**When: Saturday March 19****th**

**Where: The Plaza hotel.**

**Rsvp: 23****rd**** of February.**

She was getting married again. To my high school best friend, the one she hated.

The one who never visited, or wrote once in the five years I've been stuck, wasting away here.

He was now some big hotshot business man, who'd bought owning rights to some fancy hotel.

_[__**;**__]_

Their wedding was on the headline of every paper in the country. Her porcelain face graced with a joyous smile. His fitted in the trademark smirk he wore all throughout our high school days.

She looked happy, truly happy. Happier then she had ever been with me.

She finally got the perfect life she'd been dreaming of, while I was forced to slip through the irrelevant, thinly veiled cracks.

_[__**;**__]_

Why couldn't I get my own happy ending, I deserved to be happy too.

_[__**;**__]_

My twenty-eighth birthday was one spent all alone.

No letters, no phone calls, and definitely not a single visitor.

Claire had severed all remaining ties once she officially became Claire Harrington. My ashamed mother had moved, remarrying and changing her last name. I couldn't reach her anymore.

I was alone; nobody wanted a crazy person like me ruining their perfect lives.

_[__**;**__]_

Fumbling through the Harwood drawers in this oh so _cosy_ little room's wardrobe, I was trying to find that razor I'd brought along all those many years ago. Something sharp pricked at the side of my pinkie, I smiled. There it was in silver black and a tiny pinch of joyous crimson, the razor.

Closing my eyelids, I felt my unrequited life flash before my eyes. Slowly, but eagerly I brought the razor close to the skin of my throat. Soon all the pain would be gone and everyone would finally care, regretting they ever let me slip through the cracks.

They'd think twice before sending away a perfectly sane person.

I screamed cry's of joy as I felt it penetrate skin, crimson blood dripping down. Just a little further was the last thing I felt, before everything turned completely black.

_[__**m.b**__]_

I hated hospitals, doctors, dentists, nurses, everything that had to do with health. Even if for some twisted reason, the occupation I ended up following was in fact nursing. I couldn't bring myself to complete my dream of law, I was too anxious about failure. Nevertheless I ended up failing anyway; now my entire life was full of failure because I never took chances, and it was too late to change.

Wheeling the breakfast cart, I made my way down the stairs to the next room on my list, 38B. Straightening my white hospital monogram shirt, I cautiously turned the doorknob. Not wanting wake the patient, I was new to the hospital and didn't need any complaints tarnishing my credibility.

Opening the door the full way, I turned dragged the cart from behind me. I got sudden chills, as if my subconscious were letting me know; something was terribly wrong. Forgetting about the cart, I ran inwardly to the patient's bedroom.

On my first day, all I was expecting was to going in and out of rooms unseen, and maybe even make a few friends along the way. I had never expected this.

On the opal carpeted floor, a man lying in a pool of his own blood. Feeling a bile rise in my throat, I tried resisting the urge to vomit. Thinking back to my collage days, I remembered something my professor once said 'never consider any patient deceased until you check their pulse.'

My shaky hands reached for his wrist, swallowing hard I pressed two fingers onto the vain of his wrist pulse.

The

C

_r_

a

_c_

k

_e_

d

Tiles

Of

_**P e r f e c t i on**_

Opening my eyes, I was unable to comprehend what happened and where I was.

Heaven surly didn't look like a hospital. Well at least my vision of heaven didn't.

Blinking a few times, I then realized I was lying in a bed. In a hospital bed, why wasn't I dead?

I almost chocked on my breath, seeing the surreal form of a sleeping brunette.

She was in my room, why? I surely didn't know her and I'm she sure as hell didn't know me. Nobody knew me; I was an irrelevant piece of nothing to the entire outside world. A world that no longer existed for me.

I tried to speak, but my voice sounded frail and horse, barely above a whisper.

She stirred in her sleep, and I noted then that with her petite figure and deep auburn curls, she was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. But I pushed those thoughts aside; pretty girls were only after one thing.

The thing I was doomed never to have. The one curse, I'm sure ended many lives.

Perfection.

The girl stretched her arms, and I noted she was coming to. Quickly I closed my eyes; I didn't need another person doing harm in my tarnished life.

_[__**: m.b :**__]_

Yawning, I sat up and looked at the form of Josh. He looked better, he wasn't pale anymore and the throat wound was patched up without a trace of blood seeping through.

I was so relieved when I'd heard his faint pulse, I wouldn't be able to handle seeing another person die of suicide. Especially after the death of my brother Cam, we took it really hard. My mother had gone into heavy therapy cutting herself off from everyone, I only see her once a month.

I walked, settling beside his bed, maybe if he heard a person's voice he'd wake. I felt bad for him; nobody was on his call list. Not even his mother, he didn't deserve that. Nobody did.

"Josh," I whispered, feeling a little silly. He probably couldn't hear me anyway. "Im glad your okay." I smiled, brushing a bit of his dark chocolaty dishevelled hair from his eyelids; he was gorgeous. Why didn't anyone else see that?

His eyes opened wide, and he stared at me in shock. I bit my lip, stepping back; maybe I was a little too close to him. His mouth open and I faintly heard him say the words 'thank you'

Smiling I held his hand; I had a feeling he would be just fine.

_[__**: j.h :**__]_

So what if she was a girl, I knew staring at her messy hair and makeup free face, she hated perfection almost as much as I did. "Thank you" I try to get out, and she smiles, a beautiful smile showing off natural, non whitened teeth. I smiled back as she reached for my hand.

So what if I was all alone, at least now I knew somebody cared.

My life would never be perfect, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

**Okay... so this was, well blech, but I'm bored and sick, so I decided to write. Sorry about the crappyness of this, but review and make my day (:**


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